


The Monster In Your Head

by NollieBones



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Cutting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/F, F/M, Freeform, M/M, Marijuana, Mental Illness, POV Original Character, Papyrus Needs A Hug, Reader Is A Dick To Papyrus, Reader Is Not Frisk, Recreational Drug Use, Sans Needs A Hug, Self-Harm, Severe Depression, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:04:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6869698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NollieBones/pseuds/NollieBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You've had enough.<br/>You're going to end it.<br/>Dammit if someone didn't stop you again.</p><p>**OC INSERT**<br/> </p><p>Reader self-harms and nearly dies after a suicide attempt.<br/>This is not mockery towards people who have lost their battle, nor the ones who are struggling/in recovery. The girl in the story is <i>me </i> and how I felt one night. I wanted to write angst/my feelings so the happenings in this would not happen. I apologize if anyone is offended or upset.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Monster In Your Head

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [It's Just Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5660404) by [theclouddetective](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclouddetective/pseuds/theclouddetective). 



> TRIGGER WARNINGS.  
> IF YOU'RE THINKING OF SELF HARM OR THE LIKE,  
> DO  
> NOT  
> READ THIS.

Fed up.

Sick of everything.

Sick of your life.

Sick of the way you feel.

An immense amount of pressure is building on your shoulders and you don't know how to deal with it. You're scared out of your goddamn mind that one day you'll cut too deep or someone will catch you in the act. This pressure is from everything you remember about your childhood; your dad leaving you, your mom essentially abandoning you for some hillbilly fuck that didn't give two shits about you, your grandparents not caring where you were. You had no one to go to about these problems and that's where it all began. You were 8, going on 9 and you'd just been introduced to the man who fucking ruined you. Let's call him "Jim," for identity's sake. Jim took your mom away from you. He snatched your world away and ripped it to shreds. Little tiny fucking shreds.

Shreds of not knowing what was happening at such a young age and shreds of feeling as though no one cared. Your posters and faces in your room became your only company, speaking to them as though they were real. You felt  _nuts._ You felt like all this time alone had destroyed your mind and left you horrified, knowing that you had no ability to communicate properly with the outside world with which you were so fond of. You loved inanimate objects. You spoke to the walls. You attempted to kill yourself so many times and were more than often _almost_ successful. You could never deliver the killing blow for yourself. You were always,  **fucking always** SO close to being dead before Jim came in and ruined it. He always bandaged you up, no matter how much you screamed bloody murder in protest.

Now that you've found these monsters, the weight has been lifted only a little. They take your pain away sometimes, but other times it's just the same shit over and over and over.

**Relapse, relapse, relapse.**

You can't stop. You can't NOT cut. The dismantled pencil sharpener has become your wrist, legs, stomach, shoulders, and chest's best friend. All you are is a big, bloodied, bruised, and mentally damaged bag of scabs. Nobody ever noticed your silent pain. They never asked  _why_ you wore long sleeves or your Slipknot jacket all the time. Sans didn't even notice. Most of the time, he'd just crack jokes about any and everything and you'd just laugh along. Papyrus didn't understand why you fake-laughed sometimes. He'd just figure you had something going on that day. Oh, but little did he know. Undyne and Alphys never once questioned you because you were always so hyper and upbeat, trying to hide all of your pain. You never faltered  _once_ in fooling the four. Frisk was too young to understand, they're only 8. You're so glad that they're not in the situation you are, nor do you ever want them to be. 

It was going to be difficult to cover the wounds now that summer was fast approaching. You couldn't wear the jacket or long sleeves anymore and that terrified you. They had taken the first swim of the summer and asked if you'd like to join, in which you declined. Sans had a sad aura about him when you said no. You despised him like that. You're the only one you want upset or anything negative. You can take it all in - just like you have for 10 years.

There was a pool at Undyne and Alphys' house about a block down from the skele-bros', i.e. where you live. All of the monsters stayed remarkably close to one another despite being warned by Asgore to spread out. Maybe they stayed for you. Maybe they stayed because you're a vulnerable, hopeless entity with a severe mental and physical issue. But they didn't know that so it must be the first answer. It's true for the second reason, you  _are_ all of those things.

See, with Alphys you'd help her overcome her own anxiety and go to cons with no problem. She even worked up the nerve to ask Undyne on a date with the help of you. Why couldn't you do that with yourself? Papyrus, you did the same thing with as far as Mettaton and he go, only to get turned down by the robot, in which you comforted him. Sans didn't need much help with anything other than venting. He'd stay up all night with you and watch your favorite movies while spilling his thoughts and worries to you. He would lay his skull on your thighs, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Little to his knowledge, making your legs sting like all hell. He described the Genocide Run so vividly that you could relate about your mother being ripped from you at such a delicate age, almost like Papyrus was torn away from Sans. It hurt your heart when he would weep into your chest, murmuring unintelligible noises about blood and a knife then the kid having absolutely no remorse.

You couldn't talk your own self out of depression or attempting to kill yourself or cutting. It always just... happened with hardly a memory. It would be late at night while Sans would be asleep and Papyrus would be playing with his action figures in his room. You'd crawl out of Sans' arms, creep down the hall, and down the stairs to the kitchen. Then you'd take out whatever knife or sharp object you could get your hands on and commit to the violence.

_**"One**_ _ **."**_ You told yourself.

There was one, It wasn't deep enough.

Two, it wasn't aligned with one.

Three, it aligned too much with two.

Four, too little blood.

Fifteen, too much blood.

Thirty, down to your legs.

Sixty, move to your stomach.

Eighty, you were aching but alive and you hated it.

One hundred, the blood was overflowing now, too much too soon. The scars would leave crude wounds but they were  _oh so worth it._

That the night Sans found you, sprawled out on the kitchen floor with knives, razors, a gun, and pills in your hands, sobbing about how much you hated your past. Hated your life. Hated the fact that no one gave a single  _ **fuck**_ that you would die. A malignant grin spread on your face as you laughed through the tears. You kept cutting, you didn't give a shit anymore. Blood was everywhere in the tile floor. Sure, you regretted getting fluids on the floor but did you regret anything else? Nope. Not the first bit. You were noxious now. The wounds traveled from your ankles to just barely below your waist. You'd tore your arms, shoulders, chest, and stomach to pieces and you were running out of room, not to mention severing your old scars even worse. Your eyes darted toward the pills in your hand as you threw the razor on the floor. You had no clue what they did, what they were, or who they belonged to. You just knew you refused to fight this battle any longer.

A noise came from upstairs after you downed them, paralyzing you with heavy dread. Had Sans noticed you were gone? You heard him call your name sleepily and innocent, filling you with great agony. You didn't want to see his reaction. You wanted to just disappear like he could do, escape a goddamn situation at the blink of an eye. 

You pressed the gun to your temple with a shaking hand, trying your best not to make sounds. Your chest heaved as you silently cried, hooking your finger around the trigger and cocking the weapon.

"______?" His voice was getting closer. You couldn't breathe, the pills you took were doing wonders for your body and not in the good way. The gun fell to the floor with a loud _pop_ as it fired a bullet through the wall beside the trashcan. You began to choke on your own saliva,  ruthlessly coughing up blood and acid from your stomach. The cuts were pouring from every limb and inch of your body you covered. You sat puddled in your own body fluids and vomit, slowly being drained of life.

You heard a loud gasp then Sans screech Papyrus' name as you started to teeter into consciousness, " **PAPYRUS!!** " Sans's fingers tried to touch you but everything hurt. His eyes were flooded with tears, stinging the wounds on your chest as he hovered over your colorless body. Blood flow slowed down. Exsanguination was taking it's toll on your corpse.

Your skin was clammy, your eyes were hazy, your breathing became shallow, and you were becoming acutely aware that this is exactly what you wanted to happen - minus Sans and Papyrus. You closed your agape jaw and smiled, hoping Sans wouldn't notice. Your tongue felt raw and dry, as if you chomped down on it and hadn't drank in days. Think of it like when you stick your tongue out your mouth and it begins to lose it's moisture from being exposed to the air, except there's a blow dryer in your face.

Sans' eyes trailed the wounds while he waited for his brother to come. There was so much blood. He noticed the gun lying beside you, now knowing what the pop was. You were going to shoot yourself? After all this? Did you honestly  _want_ Sans to kill himself also? For Papyrus to find....?

Papyrus ran into the kitchen and slammed on the brakes, frozen in place at the sight before him. His eyesockets widened as he took in what was happening, finally understanding what the loud noise was. Papyrus inched closer to you, kneeling down and summoning some kind of bright, vermilion sphere. Sans plucked your Soul from your chest, examining the damage you caused, which only made him cry harder. The once lively jade heart has now faded to an ugly shade of pale green with grey swirling inside. There were massive cracks in the fragile Soul.

"Sans... I don't think she'll-" The younger brother spoke quietly as he held the sphere above your chest. You felt a warmth wash over you when Papyrus, you assumed and correctly, gently shoved the blood orange ball into you. The pain stopped.

"SHE HAS TO!!" He screamed, sweeping your lifeless body up in his arms and holding you tight after reconnecting your Soul with it's rightful owner.

You felt life breathe into you again after you'd been so close to finally being released. Your body felt comfortably numb, your mind relaxed, your muscles softened. You felt like your bones melted away and now all you are is a pile of jello.

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a nice day :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr:  
> gwynology.tumblr.com


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